


fulfillment

by jdphoenix



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Gen, Qui-Gon Jinn Lives, the Jedi Council are jerks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdphoenix/pseuds/jdphoenix
Summary: In which Qui-Gon has a vision, Obi-Wan learns to rebel, and Anakin fulfills the prophecy without anyone having to die. (Except for the Sith.)
Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 6
Kudos: 131





	fulfillment

**i. Qui-Gon**

“Did you really expect them to welcome him with open arms?” Obi-Wan asks.

Qui-Gon chooses to let the tone pass, largely because it’s nice to see his padawan showing some youthful disrespect after all the pointless regulations of the Council. He does hate returning to Coruscant.

“I had hoped they might at least be open to the idea.” He knew there would be resistance. He did not think it would be so absolute.

“Most younglings take their first steps at the Temple. Face it, Master, Anakin is too old. He has too many attachments. He won’t be able to learn our ways and what training he does accept will only make him more susceptible to the Dark.”

The words are so much an echo of those he heard in the Council chamber that Qui-Gon has to center himself in the Force before responding. Just when he thought his padawan was learning to rebel a little…

“Is that why they do it?” Her majesty’s entrance saves Qui-Gon from deciding between a lecture and a purposeful irritation of Obi-Wan’s sensibilities.

Obi-Wan has yet to realize this little handmaiden is the queen they’re meant to protect and, much as Qui-Gon is looking forward to the moment of revelation—and Obi-Wan’s expression when it comes—he will not expose her majesty’s subterfuge and potentially expose her to danger just to hurry it along. So he only nods in greeting and asks, “Why who does what?”

“Why the Republic mandates that all children be tested for Force sensitivity at birth. Or—most.” Qui-Gon does not need his own Force sensitivity to know her pity is reaching out to Anakin.

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says. “A child’s connection to his parents is stronger than any other and Jedi training does not allow for such attachments. They cloud one’s judgment, muddle emotions. It’s best if such ties are severed before they take too deep a hold.”

“So you take children from their mothers before they’re old enough to remember them?”

Qui-Gon looks to Obi-Wan, searching with his eyes as well as his deeper sense for cracks. Obi-Wan was old when he was brought to the temple—not nearly Anakin’s age, but old enough there is the chance of memory.

It is not the first time Qui-Gon has wondered if such memories exist or if they are the cause for his student’s strict adherence to the Council’s rules and expectations.

“Attachment leads to the Dark Side,” Obi-Wan says with all the feeling of one who has had the lesson drilled into him. “Imagine your father traveled to one of the Rim worlds, one like Tatooine.”

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon says in warning, but Obi-Wan continues as though he does not speak at all.

“Imagine he makes a mistake—some small, tiny infraction—that on Naboo he would only apologize for and move on. But on Tatooine, this action is taken as a grievous insult and he is attacked. The authorities there turn a blind eye, as they always do, and you are left wanting justice. Would you use your connection to the queen to ask for that justice?”

Anger swirls around her majesty like smoke. For a moment Qui-Gon fears that Obi-Wan has made a grievous misstep of his own, but Padme proves how she came to be a queen so young. Just like smoke, the anger dissipates, leaving cool composure and reason in its wake.

“It would be inappropriate to use my position in such a way,” she says, more coldly than Qui-Gon has heard her speak since they left Watto. “But I have already reported to the queen on the conditions we saw on Tatooine and I hope she will petition for a stronger Republic presence on those worlds whose position in the galaxy makes them easy prey for slavers and gangsters. Their citizens deserve the same protections as the Core.”

“All right,” Obi-Wan says, smiling as though he does not believe her noble intentions for a moment.

“And,” she admits heavily, “I would hope, if I or any of the queen’s other handmaidens were in such a position, she would _want_ to see justice done.”

“If the queen does act—out of her attachment to you—how do you expect her to accomplish this justice? The Rim worlds do not suffer Republic interference easily. There will be political machinations, the kind that will only hurt those very citizens you say deserve protection.”

Her majesty lets out a long breath. “So you’re saying that, in the same way I and the queen and the Senate would be moved by emotion, a Jedi who knows attachment will be? And as those emotions drive them to act in ways they otherwise would not, they will be driven to the Dark Side?”

“Precisely.” Obi-Wan folds his arms into his sleeves and sits back, pleased to have won the argument.

“But you already _have_ those attachments,” Padme insists, while Qui-Gon hides his smile at Obi-Wan’s surprise. “I can’t speak for other species, but humans are bonded to their mothers long before birth. You can’t tell me that just goes away.”

“Well, no. It takes time-”

“ _Maybe_. Maybe it will in time. Or maybe you’ve only brought in a young Jedi who will grow resentful of the Order. And what about children like Anakin? Is he expected to ignore this part of himself because he found out about it too late? Is his only other option to become a _Sith_?”

Her words seem to ripple through the Force, the same way the words of those Jedi with the gift of foresight sometimes do. For a moment, Qui-Gon can see it all. Anakin—kind, sweet Anakin—raised in bitterness and hatred. Grown cold to the Light and finding acceptance—finding _justice—_ only in the Dark. He would be like the Sith of old, dark and malevolent, with power enough to shake down the stars.

“ _No_.” Qui-Gon sends the single word out as a counter wave, seeking to dispel that which he saw. It is not true and it will never be. “Anakin will be a Jedi, as is his right.” This, Qui-Gon swears. Upon his saber. Upon his life. Upon the very Force itself. He will see it done. “In this the Council is wrong.”

Padme smiles, as though this is what she came here for in the first place. (Qui-Gon wonders if it is. Has word of the Council’s refusal to take in one new padawan reached even a queen’s ears in the gossiping corridors of the capital?)

Obi-Wan balks. He is a bundle of contradictory emotions. His loyalty to his master wars with his adherence to Council doctrine. It would be a humorous display of hypocrisy if Qui-Gon were not himself struggling against his … vision?

It cannot be that. Aside from that momentary precognition which aids all Jedi in combat, Qui-Gon has never shown any clairvoyant skill. It was a product of his own emotional state, brought on by his frustrating appearance before the Council as well as the stress of this mission. Setting all else aside, an encounter with a true Sith would unsettle any Jedi.

“If you will excuse us.” He rises to his feet, for once not having to play at feeling his years, and Obi-Wan takes the hint to follow. “You will understand if we would like to meditate so as to be at our best for the queen’s service when we arrive on Naboo.”

Her mouth thins, as it always does when he refers to her as if she were not herself. He only smiles back; the ruse is her choice, not his.

“Of course,” she says, only to speak again when they reach the door. “And thank you! For Ani.”

“The boy deserves the chance to claim his destiny.” Qui-Gon says the words as much for Obi-Wan as for her.

“No.” She shakes her head. “I meant for caring about him. I don’t think many people have done that.”

She is too astute not to realize that what she has just said would be a grave insult to the kind of strict, zealous Jedi that Obi-Wan pretends to be. Qui-Gon takes it for the compliment it is.

“Having met him, I could hardly do less.”

.

.

It is, of course, not nearly so easy.

Qui-Gon barely survives the battle on Naboo. His own emotions get the better of him—that imagining of his finds him again at the worst possible moment, providing him with an image of Anakin training at the Sith’s side. His anger spikes and he grows momentarily reckless. It is all the Sith needs and he feels the curious burn of his own internals sizzling around a lightsaber.

The pain is intense, easily the worst he has ever felt. He is certain this is his end.

When Obi-Wan comes to him, he can still see the golden eyed, anger twisted man who was once that kind slave boy who aided them when he had no cause to. His final words are a plea that Obi-Wan will see Anakin trained, no matter what the Council says.

At peace knowing it will be done, balance will be restored, he falls into the Force.

.

.

And wakes up hours later to the sting of a meddroid poking around inside his abdomen.

Obi-Wan’s face appears above him, this time lightened by a smile larger than any Qui-Gon has ever seen him wear. “You are very lucky, master. The droids say surviving a blow like that is a one in a billion chance.”

“Is it?” Qui-Gon grunts. His body is immobilized while the droid sutures the wound—a silly precaution, Jedi are trained from youth to be stronger than their physical suffering—but that does not stop him from wishing he could move away from the pain.

“Yeah!” Anakin appears alongside Obi-Wan, though less steadily and several inches taller. He must be standing on something precarious because Obi-Wan has to help hold him in place. “They said it went through at _just the right angle_ so it only burned up one organ that they don’t even know why you have and the rest are all okay!”

The droid beeps in protest as it rolls away.

“Well, you’re far from ‘okay,’” Obi-Wan says. “But you will live, which is more than I-” As he turns away, Qui-Gon sees tears glisten in his padawan’s eyes.

It should be worrisome. A sign of weakness to emotion. An attachment. Qui-Gon reaches out to take Obi-Wan’s hand.

“I’ll live,” he says, squeezing to reassure him of that fact. When he speaks next, it is as though he was not recently skewered and Obi-Wan did not just allow himself to be carried by emotion. “And the Sith?”

“Dead.”

“Obi-Wan cut him in half!”

“Anakin!”

“What? That’s what everyone’s saying.”

“Did you?” Qui-Gon asks.

Obi-Wan pinkens. It’s quite amusing on his unflappable student.

Former student. Obi-Wan can hardly be considered a padawan when he’s defeated a Sith in combat.

“Yes, master.”

Qui-Gon waits a moment to respond, until the pain is lessened enough he can do so levelly. “Impressive.”

Obi-Wan pinkens further. “Yes, master.”

“Where are we?”

“The palace. Her majesty has insisted we stay until you’re well enough to travel.”

“That could be some time.” Qui-Gon considers this news carefully.

“The Council understands,” Obi-Wan says hurriedly. “Seeing as our mission is complete and the threat of the Sith is gone, they have given us permission to stay for however long is required.”

“Of course. I only worry…” He allows his gaze to drift to Anakin.

“What?” Anakin looks between them in growing distress. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s already so old,” Obi-Wan says. For a moment Qui-Gon fears he intends to forsake his promise now that he isn’t dead. “He really shouldn’t wait any longer. Certainly not for the Council to give their permission.”

“No, I didn’t think so either,” Qui-Gon says. He focuses on the pain, using it to quell his smile lest it grow too large. “But I am not in any shape to begin training—especially a student so far behind.”

Anakin, finally catching on, looks between them with a smile that lights up the room. “You mean it? I’m going to start training?”

“Yes, Anakin-”

“Right now!” Obi-Wan laughs as he lifts Anakin down. “To the courtyard!” Anakin goes running from the room, R2 racing after him with a flurry of beeps. Obi-Wan only hesitates a moment to rest his hand on Qui-Gon’s again. “I am glad you’re all right, master.”

“You’ll need to stop calling me that.”

Obi-Wan’s ears are turning pink at this point. He runs from the room, chasing after his new padawan and leaving Qui-Gon to a rest far sweeter than that he thought to enjoy.

**ii. Obi-Wan**

Obi-Wan is centered in the Force. His mind is clear. His heart is at peace. His body is ready for whatever he must face.

The Council sits before him, silent after he has asked the question he has asked many times before. Too many.

No. No, his heart is at peace. Whatever the outcome of this Council meeting, he will be-

“I’m sorry, Apprentice Kenobi,” Master Windu says, “but at this time the Council does not yet think you are ready for the trials.”

“Of course, master. I will continue to train until such time as I am considered worthy.”

The master nearest him—Yoda—cringes at the words. Or, more likely, at the anger coiling within him as he speaks.

Just further proof he is not yet worthy.

He bows respectfully and turns to go, moving swiftly as if he can outrun his own frustrations.

Through the doors, down the long hall. He bypasses the lift in favor of the nearest landing pad. He doesn’t have a ship waiting—only members of the Council are allowed to land so close to their chambers—but he needs the air.

“H-hey! Wait!”

His flight isn’t fast enough. Anakin, who of course was waiting at the lift, spots him and hurries after him.

Obi-Wan doesn’t stop until he’s outside with the wind whipping past, dragging at his damn braid. He considers tearing it out by the roots and letting it fall—but from this height it might do some damage down below.

The thought it would be a gross violation of protocol and a clear attack on the Council doesn’t make him want to do it any less.

Anakin catches up. “You know, you could’ve wait- No.” His mouth drops open and he bends as he steps forward so that he can look up into Obi-Wan’s down-turned face. “No! They didn’t! They _couldn’t_!”

For all the years that have passed since Anakin first came to the Temple, he is still young, undisciplined in so many ways. He expresses what Obi-Wan cannot, will not. He stomps down the platform. His arms move forcefully with each step, his hands are fisted. He is anger personified, not at all what a Jedi padawan should be.

That makes two of them.

At the edge, Anakin stops. He drops his hands from his head to his sides. Obi-Wan can see the rise of his shoulders. He does not know if Anakin speaks, but he can hear the words.

_In with_ _the Light—tranquility, peace, life—_ _out with_ _the Dark—anger, emotion, pain._

Anakin returns to him, but he is far from composed. His face is heavy with sadness and guilt. Obi-Wan aches as much for him as for himself.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Obi-Wan says. This is, in some ways, a lie.

It has been ten years since Naboo and the Sith. Such a victory should have seen him elevated to the rank of knight—would have seen any other Jedi elevated. But when Qui-Gon was finally well enough to travel—which came after him being well enough to take over from Obi-Wan in Anakin’s training—the Council insisted he had to pass the traditional trials.

It was unexpected—Qui-Gon was certainly shocked—but Obi-Wan was at peace with the decision. The Council might have made a mistake with Anakin, judged him too quickly, but there was a time for adhering to the rules and a time for not. Certainly Jedi had been elevated after extreme shows of fortitude in the past, but those were more barbaric times. There was no reason Obi-Wan could not pass the trials the same as everyone else.

If only he were given the chance.

For ten years the Council has seen fit to send him on mission after mission—either at Qui-Gon’s side or apart from him—and, on the rare occasions they return to Coruscant, has consistently refused to give him the chance to undergo the trials. This, when mere days before he defeated the Sith, they had granted him permission.

He might have blamed it on that, on some paranoid fear the battle with the Sith had pulled him towards the Dark, were it not for Master Yoda pressing him to know whether he had taken part in Anakin’s training on Naboo. It was clear the Council did not approve.

Whether it was his choice to follow his master’s lead or his impertinence in training a padawan while still technically one himself, he does not know. He only knows the Council is not yet satisfied with his penance, even all these years later.

“No, I think it is.” Anakin is doing a determined study of their boots. His shoulders lift as he attempts once more to center himself before facing him. “I did something stupid.”

“Something new?”

Anakin’s guilty expression falls into one of annoyance. “I’m serious. I- You know I’ve been having nightmares.”

Obi-Wan does. He’s spent every night for the past month helping Anakin meditate before bed, hoping that would silence his discordant mind. When Qui-Gon left on his top secret mission, he changed tactics. Their sunset saber duels, lasting until one of them quite literally drops, haven’t helped either—they have, however, been great amusement for the younglings.

“I was waiting around for the meeting to be over, hoping to hear good news.” Anakin smiles with that fruitless hope. “Master Koon must have been running late because he passed me. And I was so tired and still thinking about it- I asked him about dreams, if they could really be visions of the future.”

“Why would that change their minds?” Obi-Wan asks. It’s a valid question coming from a padawan. They don’t have the experience to know just how far some Jedi can see—not unless they have a Jedi gifted in such ways for their own master.

“Because I told him what I was seeing.” Anakin winces. “My mother.”

Obi-Wan feels a flicker of … something. The emotion isn’t one he can name, but it reminds him of what he feels whenever he sees a Jedi younger than him leave the Council chamber as a newly appointed knight.

“You’re going to see her again?”

“No! I don’t know! That’s not what I’m dreaming.”

Obi-Wan waits. Anakin is emotional but not undisciplined. He only needs time to center himself.

And, as Obi-Wan is not a new knight to be sent on his first mission, he has plenty of time to spare.

“She’s in pain. I think she’s dying.” Anakin says this last so softly Obi-Wan has to read his lips over the roar of the wind.

“And you told Master Koon you were dreaming of your mother dying.”

“Yeah.”

That would certainly be another mark against Qui-Gon and his determination to see Anakin knighted.

Obi-Wan reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. Anakin lifts his head, surprised and wary.

“It’s not your fault.”

It’s a mark against Qui-Gon and Anakin, but the Council has proven they hardly need another reason to see Obi-Wan held back.

“Let’s go to the training yard. Maybe we just need to start earlier.”

Anakin’s joy at being forgiven is so contagious that Obi-Wan hardly feels the looks of pity when the younglings see his braid.

.

.

Unfortunately, it isn’t so easy for Obi-Wan to help Anakin.

He wins their fight and carries Anakin to bed instead of having a droid do it and still he cannot rest. Perhaps it’s the anxiety of the meeting finally winning out, but he lays awake for hours until he senses Anakin’s distress.

He reaches out to him in a way similar and yet different from how he reaches out to Qui-Gon. He has no name for it—they aren’t master and pupil, despite those few weeks on Naboo and the assistance he’s given Qui-Gon in the years since—but if he had to qualify it, it makes him think of the time before, those brief years of his life before he came to Coruscant.

Through their connection, he sends out peace and calm and rest—all of which he himself needs right now. In return, he receives fear and hate and the sound of a woman’s screams.

The very _presence_ of it shocks Obi-Wan out of his bed and he’s halfway to Anakin’s before he realizes it wasn’t real.

Not yet, anyway.

Anakin doesn’t wake when he enters. Perhaps it’s a testament to Obi-Wan’s training or Anakin’s lack of it or even the strength of the visions he’s possessed by. Obi-Wan can’t say. He only knows that when he sits on the floor at his bedside and tells him it will be all right, Anakin’s distress eases.

.

.

In the morning, there is another Council session. Anakin is summoned. He’s been chosen to protect Senator Amidala from the assassins sent after her by forces unknown.

By afternoon, he has removed himself to her embassy.

By nightfall, Obi-Wan is off-world.

.

.

“I think, if you really want this information, you will show it.” The grimy blue hand grasps at the air, waiting for a larger bribe.

Obi-Wan hates this place. He hates this hot, stinking planet. He hates this disgusting Toydarian. He hates the lie he’s told to get this far. And he hates being extorted.

He’s not fool enough to ignite his saber without due cause, not on a world like Tatooine, but there are plenty of weapons in this little shop. A soldering iron lifts from the pile of spare parts behind Watto and presses into the soft spot between his wings.

“I think,” Obi-Wan says, “if I really want this information, you will give it to me at a fair price.”

Watto looks from Obi-Wan’s unflinching stare to where his moneypouch is hidden beneath his robes.

Obi-Wan sighs and, rather than reach to his right, reaches to his left. The blaster he brought along feels wrong on his hip but the quality is fine.

“This should be worth something.”

Watto practically licks his lips. And takes his eyes off his other hand long enough for Obi-Wan to float a few of the coins back into his pouch.

“Lars,” Watto says. “He lives out in the salt flats. A moisture farmer. That’s all I know.”

“Are you sure?” This time Obi-Wan allows him to see the coins move.

Watto catches them between his hands, scowling viciously. “Yes! Yes! Now go! You’re bad for business! Stinking Jedi,” he mutters, already turning away.

Much as he hates to please the Toydarian, Obi-Wan has the information he needs and he’s already wasted enough time getting it.

He didn’t accompany Qui-Gon here when last they were on Tatooine so he didn’t know where to look for Anakin’s mother. He hadn’t even bothered to learn her _name_ before departing Coruscant.

On top of that, there was the ridiculous cover story he was forced to adopt in order to have any hope of gaining Watto’s compliance. It’s all taken far too long and now he has to find a man named Lars on the salt flats.

Force, he hopes that’s not a common name out here.

He’s so busy lamenting, he very nearly misses the faint _tug_ of the Force. He’s a fraction of a second too late and catches a pipe to the shoulder as a result.

He stumbles, falling to one knee and spinning, raising a hand not to attack but to _hold_. When the pipe comes down again, it stops in midair.

The young man holding it—just about Anakin’s age—blinks in surprise.

“Hello,” Obi-Wan says with a smile. His other hand shoots out, sending the young man back into the wall of Watto’s shop.

As his opponent is clearly not a seasoned fighter by any means, Obi-Wan takes his time standing and brushing himself off. Luckily this little shop isn’t in a busy part of the marketplace, but in a town like this there are eyes everywhere. He doesn’t kid himself he hasn’t been noticed.

“If you were trying to mug me,” he says, “I do hope you’ve learned your lesson and will turn over a new leaf.”

“I was trying to kill you!” the young man snarls.

Well. That’s rude.

And foolish.

“Bad idea, telling your opponent you want them dead. Especially when you’re at a disadvantage.”

The young man, far from accepting such kindly given advice, scoffs. “Like I’m going to listen to a karking rapist.”

“Here now! There’s no call for that!”

“Oh yeah? And what were you planning on doing to my mother then?”

Obi-Wan steps back a pace, reassessing. “Your mother?” He didn’t know Anakin had a brother. He certainly never mentioned one.

For some odd reason, that feeling of the before time rises up in Obi-Wan again.

“Shmi Skywalker. Everyone knows you’re looking for her. And not for any good reason.”

Obi-Wan allows himself a groan of frustration, rather than closing his eyes and recentering himself while the young man is still eager for his blood.

He knew that Qui-Gon had attempted to purchase Shmi the last time they were here. He also knew that Watto had refused to sell her, having felt he was cheated out of Anakin. Apparently his pride finally overwhelmed his greed at exactly the point it would keep a good woman enslaved. A true credit to the Republic, that one.

So Obi-Wan needed a lie. A reason for seeking out Anakin’s mother that wouldn’t immediately prevent Watto from selling her.

As the truth is so often the best of lies, he began there. He claimed to hate Anakin for ruining his life, stealing his master’s affection, being a better Jedi than him, and so on. He claimed that, being unable to take revenge on a fellow Jedi directly, he had chosen to teach him a lesson on attachments by taking revenge on the one person he couldn’t let go.

The story worked well enough on Watto.

Apparently it was a bit too believable.

“I’m not here to harm her,” he says as gently as he’s able. “I’m here to save her.”

“Says you.”

“ _Yes_ , says me. I came because your brother had a vision of her suffering, I suspect her very death, and I seek to usurp that future. Will you help me?”

The young man looks him up and down. “You just expect me to believe you? Lead you right to her?”

His caution is admirable but Obi-Wan really doesn’t have time for this. There’s no telling when the future Anakin saw will come to pass.

Obi-Wan reaches to his left and pulls his saber free. The young man recoils, holding up his hands in a weak defense, but the saber remains unlit.

“Take it. I swear upon it that I will not harm you or your family.”

Tentatively, as though he expects it to ignite and somehow burn him through the hilt, he reaches out to take it.

“My name is Obi-Wan.”

“Owen.”

.

.

The Lars home is a far cry from the Temple, but Shmi welcomes him in with all the grace of Senator Amidala herself. She feeds him more food than her family can likely spare and asks him endless questions of Anakin.

Not the sorts of questions he can easily answer like how he does in his training or how he struggles with focus and balance. But simple, intimate questions such as how much he eats, who are his friends, whether he is happy.

She still loves him, still thinks of him often enough this family who never knew him all know his name and long to hear news of him too. She’s still his mother, while he’s a padawan with no attachments.

“I’m just glad he’s found a true friend out there,” she says, laying her and over Obi-Wan’s. “I hear the Core can be a lonely place.”

He’s saved from finding the words to say by her husband, Cliegg. “We’re all glad. But you’ll understand if I’m wondering what brings you here. Owen tells me it’s not just news of little Ani.”

Little Ani. Obi-Wan nearly smiles thinking of them seeing the child they imagine as a grown man.

But the reality of his purpose dampens his spirits.

“Anakin’s had a vision. It’s rare, but some Jedi do see the future on occasion.”

“The future?” Cliegg echoes.

“My Ani?” Shmi asks.

Owen just takes his young wife’s hand.

“He’s seen your future, Shmi. And it’s not a good one.”

Silence settles over them, heavy as the future Obi-Wan only glimpsed.

It’s broken by Shmi’s laughter.

Still laughing, she stands to gather the plates. “The future. Oh, my little Ani.”

“Ma’am?”

“Mother?”

“Shmi. Did you hear what he said?”

“I did, I did.” She waves them off as she sets the plates in the sink. Out here, people wash everything by hand—or their droids do.

“Then you understand why we need to go,” Obi-Wan says, standing.

“Go?” Shmi’s smile is gone. For the first time, Obi-Wan feels like an outsider in her home. “Go where?”

“To Coruscant. Where you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, Shmi.” Cliegg’s voice is rough. “If it’s not safe here, you must go-”

“I will not!” Silence falls again. They all watch as Shmi struggles to control her emotions. When she fails to do so, she leaves.

“I’m sorry. But you have to admit it’s a lot to take in.”

“It is,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Perhaps I should have taken more care in explaining.”

No one disagrees and no one tries to stop him when he follows Shmi out.

She must have left with purpose, because it takes Obi-Wan several minutes to catch up despite her presently slow pace.

“You don’t understand,” she says with none of her earlier anger. In the weak light of the smaller sun’s setting, she attempts a smile. “I was born a slave. I thought I would die a slave. This-” she nods towards the house- “this life, these people, it is more than I ever hoped for.”

“But isn’t that a reason to live? For them? Can’t you see how it will break their hearts to lose you?”

She turns away, hiding her tears. “Can’t you see? Giving Anakin up- I will not pretend it was easy. But knowing that he would have a _life…_ It helped to temper the pain.”

“You can see him again-” It’s a horrible idea. Anakin already struggles so with emotion and attachment, bringing his mother back into his life will only set him back. Obi-Wan’s almost grateful when Shmi immediately refuses.

“No. Not like this. Not when it means giving up the life that I have found.” She turns back, but not to him. She looks again to the small house glowing against the dark sand. “If I went with you and lived another day, another year, another hundred and sacrificed the love and belonging I know now for it, that would not be living. It would only be a slower death.”

She retraces her steps, returning to the family she loves more than her own life and leaving Obi-Wan alone in the gathering dark.

.

.

“Oh!” Shmi clutches her chest. She studies Obi-Wan before lowering her hand and giving him a look that has him feeling like a youngling. “We thought you’d left.”

Understandable. He never returned to the Lars home last night. Instead, he continued his journey to the edge of the farm where he could better watch for trouble.

His joints are stiff but the heat is already rising quickly as the second sun inches past the horizon.

Shmi looks at the rickety sensor fence and him on the other side of it. It’s not much, not nearly what he’d like protecting a woman whose death was foretold, but it’s what he has to work with.

“Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

“No, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

Shmi is understandably startled.

“I’m staying until the danger’s passed.”

“You don’t even know what it _is_.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I’ll know it when it comes.”

.

.

He does. It takes two months.

There are some rumblings in the first month about running him off, but either Owen speaks in his defense or the locals just realize he’s the least of the threats out here on the Rim. Either way, he becomes an object of some ridicule. Ben the Eccentric, who sleeps in caves and ekes out a meager existence like everyone else on this desert world. Who women give a wide berth to and children make a game of. They dare one another to tug on his padawan braid while he meditates.

He makes his own game of tripping the most obnoxious ones before they reach him and allowing the littlest to come close without harm.

Two months of watching this sad little corner of this sad little world with all its people and families and love. The things that are, apparently, worth dying for. (He always knew that. It’s why the Order exists, to protect all this. He never before considered that those who enjoy its luxuries might protect it as well.)

Two months of solitary contemplation that make his training seem easy.

Two months before Shmi is taken in the light of the first dawn.

He’s the first after her. No one expects it. No one expects the broken, shell of a man who’s been lingering at the edges of their society to move as fast as he does or as fiercely.

No one expects the saber.

Most of the raiders flee. He knows this world well enough by now to know they won’t be back. A gang of locals making an attack is one thing. A single Jedi is another. They won’t risk his kind again.

He returns Shmi to a relieved, heartsick family who all beg him to stay for celebration. But it’s been two months and he hasn’t checked in with the Council once…

What’s one more night?

.

.

“We are most disappointed,” Windu says.

“Concerned we were. In turmoil, when we last saw you, your emotions were.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agrees.

Yoda studies him with narrowed eyes, making him look like a nearsighted old man and not a warrior feared across a dozen systems. “At peace you are.”

“Yes.”

“An interesting attitude, considering you have acted in direct violation of this Council and of the Jedi code.” Windu’s gaze is unforgiving. “You disappeared off the face of the galaxy for _two months_. Do you know the resources that were diverted from the war effort to search for you? Do you even know we are at war?”

“I saved a woman’s life. A life the Force warned would be taken prematurely.”

“You don’t know that. Apprentice Skywalker is young and this is the first instance of foresight— _potential_ foresight—he’s displayed. There’s no telling what he saw or what it meant.”

Obi-Wan waits to see if there will be more. When there isn’t, he says, “That is your opinion.”

“That is the opinion of _this Council_.”

“As I said.”

Ti holds up her hand, stopping Windu’s rebuttal. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Padawan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan allows himself to feel the full sting of the title. The hurt, the shame, the anger. He feels it all. And then he releases it into the Force.

_In with the Light. Out with the Dark._

“Yes, I do.”

Slowly, methodically, with no sign of malice or ill-intent, he reaches to his left. With his other hand, he reaches back to lift the braid away from his neck. Carefully, with an awareness of both blade and body that only a true knight would have, he ignites the blade for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Just long enough. It does not touch his lifted arm or burn anything at all except the braid itself.

He drops it to the floor.

“I will not defend what I have done. For those among you who agree with my decision, it needs no defense. For those who do not, I cannot pretend to know your reasoning to refute it. I will say instead that I had much time to think on Tatooine. Many hours and days spent in solitary contemplation. I saw families and community and in a strange way became a part of it simply by sitting on the outskirts. I could not avoid this treatment any more than the members of that community could stop themselves from recognizing me as a fellow sentient.

“In the same way, no living thing may escape the Force. Our very existence makes us a part of it and it a part of us. It is the living Force between all life in the galaxy, the heartbeat of us all. That is what we teach the younglings. And yet we teach them that in order to serve the Force we must cut ourselves off from all natural connections. This is a teaching I can no longer accept.

“It has been my life’s work to serve the Force,” he says over the rumblings of protest. “And it will be still. But I will no longer serve this Council or count myself a member of this Order. May the Force be with you all.”

**iii. Anakin**

“Twins,” Anakin says for at least the fifth time. Padme doesn’t comment; she’s said it just as often.

“You couldn’t feel them?” she asks. Instead of looking at him, she tips her head towards him, as if her eyes are magnetically fixed on the babies in their arms.

Anakin doesn’t blame her.

“They’re too close,” he says, which only confuses her. “When Luke was making a fuss, it wasn’t because the meddroid held him wrong or he didn’t know your arms. It was because he missed his sister. I could _feel_ the two of them reaching out for each other. They’re so close, if I close my eyes it’s like there’s only one.”

Padme smiles. “They love each other.”

Anakin’s heart clenches. This bond between his children will be cut off by the Order. That kind of attachment will be a distraction, it will make them emotionally unbalanced, it will pull them towards the Dark Side.

He lifts Leia, bringing her up so that their foreheads just touch. He can feel her reaching out to him, probing him, testing him. He answers with love. All the love he felt when he first saw her little face, screaming and crying and frightened of this bright new world.

She sighs softly, her tiny breath just enough to be felt on his cheek. She’s content. She trusts in him, in his love and devotion to her. She doesn’t know it could be any other way.

“We should go,” Anakin says. “I know you don’t like to talk about it-”

Her work is important. It affects the lives of billions of other wives and mothers and children throughout the galaxy and she can’t just _leave_. That’s what she’s always said. For months, even when assassins were blowing up her offices or sabotaging her official sharship.

Now she says, “No, you’re right. I can’t put them at risk. Where to?”

Anakin looks to the droids—the meddroid still milling about, cleaning and taking regular scans of mother and children, and the security droid on the door. He cleared them both before they were allowed in the suite, but it’s a fact they remember everything and there’s no telling whose hands they’ll fall into next. He kisses Padme’s cheek. “It’s a surprise.”

.

.

It’s a surprise to him too. He knows the general direction, but actually finding the right spot requires some searching.

When he does, he’s both relieved and surprised to find what he’s looking for on Mandalore, a neutral world, and in the capital no less.

He’s even more surprised when the man he’s looking for greets him with a hug.

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan squeezes him tightly.

For a minute, Anakin’s worried there’s something wrong. This isn’t Obi-Wan, it’s some imposter. But then he looks at him—really _looks—_ and it’s the same man he grew up alongside. Albeit with a beard, but it suits him. Makes him look older, more mature. And he always was that.

“You’re not mad?” The words slip out without him meaning them too. Luckily they’re quiet enough Padme can’t hear—she’s too busy talking to the _duchess_ Obi-Wan’s living with.

Obi-Wan’s smile turns serious. “It was my decision, Anakin. I hope you haven’t been blaming yourself all these years.” He sounds like he’s truly hurt by the idea and gives Anakin’s shoulder a squeeze before turning to Padme.

“Senator, it’s a pleasure to see you again. And- twins.” Obi-Wan looks immediately to Anakin. Maybe that’s because it’s obvious he’d screw up _this_ badly. Maybe because Leia’s just opened her eyes and Padme always says she looks just like him.

“As I told you,” the duchess says, “our guests are on the run.”

Obi-Wan looks stricken. The duchess excuses herself, claiming she’d prefer to maintain plausible deniability but any friends of Obi-Wan’s are welcome in her home. She takes her own service droids with her, leaving only C-3PO and R2, the only droids Anakin trusts nowadays.

As soon as she’s gone, Padme says, in the tired voice of someone who’s been dealing with this since they were fourteen, “There were assassins.”

At the same time, Anakin says, “They’re Force sensitive.”

“The assassins are Force sensitive?” Padme asks.

“No.” It’s Obi-Wan who answers. “The children are. That’s why you brought them.”

Padme looks sharply to Anakin. “Is that true?”

He winces. He probably should have told her a _little_ earlier.

He takes her hand in his real one—half in a request for forgiveness and half to have her support while he says what he needs to. She gives him both.

“I’ve left the Order.”

Padme’s hand stiffens but doesn’t pull away. They’ve discussed this before, but he always couched it in maybes and somedays. And she always insisted she would never ask that of him.

But she did. By loving him and letting him love her, she asked and he was too childish and frightened to answer as he knew he had to.

He’s been a hypocrite. Playing at being a good Jedi while indulging in his emotions and attachments, thinking he could have both if only he could walk the narrow path. He turned it into an exercise in balance, convincing himself that made it all right.

Well, the scales have been overset and there’s no denying it any longer.

“I can’t let them go,” he says. “I’m not strong like my mother was. I can’t let go of Padme or the twins—or anyone, really.” He reaches out with the Force to Obi-Wan, willing him to understand.

He reaches right back.

“I couldn’t remain with the Order, not when I knew they’d take them away. Not just from me and Padme, but from each other too. Their bond is too strong, it won’t be allowed.”

Obi-Wan stands and slowly approaches the twins. 3PO starts going on about their feeding and changing schedule and how right now they’re overdue for a nap thanks to the interstellar travel, but Obi-Wan ignores all that. He holds out a hand, sensing the children’s power and their place in the Force.

Padme squeezes Anakin’s hand tightly and he squeezes back, reassuring her that Obi-Wan will do no harm.

“You’re right,” he says at last. “The Order would never allow this to continue.”

“And you?” Padme asks.

His surprise ripples across Anakin’s awareness. “ _This_ is precisely why I left. You didn’t really think it was because of you?”

Anakin looks away. “They refused to let you take the trials…” Which was his fault. Before he came along, the Council was ready to knight Obi-Wan.

Again, Obi-Wan rests a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t say that didn’t help—it certainly opened my eyes to the Council’s hypocrisy—but it wasn’t why I left. I realized the Force _requires_ attachment of us and by trying to cut ourselves off from that, we were betraying our purpose. So I’ll help you in any way I can.”

Relief washes over Anakin and, for the first time since the day the twins were born, he feels himself relax. “Thank you. I had hoped you’d agree to train them when the time comes. I won’t risk them falling to the Dark Side, not even to keep them close.”

“Of course,” Obi-Wan says without hesitation. “But why can’t you do it?”

Anakin attempts to shrug but Padme’s suddenly tight hold on his hand prevents it. “Yes, why can’t you? They’re _your_ children. Who better to train them?”

“That’s not how it’s done,” he tries to explain.

“None of this is how it’s done,” Obi-Wan says.

“Exactly!” Padme smiles at him, her eyes sparkling as if they’ve just settled on something brilliant. “Why can’t you teach the twins? Or anyone?”

“Anyone?” both Anakin and Obi-Wan echo.

“Yes! You love being a Jedi and you love showing off, I think you’d be a great teacher. And there are plenty of sentients throughout the galaxy who are Force sensitive and never went to the temple. People like you who were too old when they were discovered or were just never tested. People whose parents didn’t want to let them go.”

“And it’s hardly sensible to leave them out there as easy prey for the Sith,” Obi-Wan says with a smile Anakin doesn’t understand. Padme returns it with one of her own.

“Exactly.” She strokes Anakin’s cheek and her smile dims to patient understanding. “It’s an idea.”

It is. One that could wait months or even years until the twins are ready to begin their training. One that deserves that kind of forethought and consideration.

But Anakin’s never been very good at waiting. “You really think I could teach younglings?”

“Or not-so-younglings,” she reminds him. “But yes. I really do. It wouldn’t be as exciting or gain you as much fame as fighting on the front lines-”

He lifts her up so he can cut her off with a kiss. “But I’ll be with you and our children. So it will be better.”

He can sense Obi-Wan’s discomfort.

“But I’ll need help,” he says quickly, turning to his oldest friend. “I’ve always been weak. I’ll need someone to help stabilize me.”

Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but Anakin feels the warmth of his pleasure at being asked. “I suppose I did already promise.”

.

.

It’s not as simple as that, but it’s a beginning. There’s a school to build and students to find and a lot of study. Obi-Wan insists they have to know what they’ll be keeping and leaving from the current Jedi code before they begin.

In the midst of it all, there’s the twins. Growing and changing every day. Learning to roll and talk in their own little baby language.

Anakin won’t say he doesn’t miss the 501st, but he can’t imagine missing a day of their childhoods for anything.

Surprisingly, Padme turns out to be the weaker one between them. She only has to check in, she says, make sure Naboo and the Senate are doing fine without her. When he wants to argue, she points out that his version of warning people he’d be leaving was a note on his bed in the dead of night and one of them has to be respectful.

That ends in a kidnapping, Anakin flying so fast he nearly shakes the cruiser apart in hyperspace, and a battle with Chancellor Palpatine, who is a Sith Lord. Anakin would be more surprised if he weren’t busy searching the Chancellor’s chambers for his son.

Obi-Wan is with him, of course, but even the two of them together are no match for a Sith Lord.

“I had hoped you would be my apprentice, Anakin,” he says without pausing the lightning he’s torturing them with. “But I suppose your son will do just as well. I can raise him to be a true Sith, uncorrupted by the teachings of the Light.”

“No!” Anakin roars. He raises his saber, trying to catch the lightning on its blade.

It’s not enough. He can still feel it sparking through his fingers, down his arms, through his heart.

Beside him, Obi-Wan convulses in agony.

They have lost.

“I think not.”

Palpatine roars, hitting his knees and allowing Anakin to see the smoking strike of a saber across his back. Qui-Gon stands over him.

“Master!”

“Focus, Anakin! He isn’t finished yet!”

As he says, Palpatine is already rising to his feet, ready to strike out again. The fight is far from over.

.

.

“Beautiful,” Qui-Gon says. Somehow, while Anakin was busy reassuring himself and his son that they were both safe and the Sith defeated, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan agreed that Obi-Wan would be the one staying behind to explain everything to the authorities and Qui-Gon would be coming home with Anakin and Luke.

As they didn’t really plan before departing for Coruscant and the cruiser isn’t outfitted for children, Qui-Gon is holding Luke and playing baby games with him while Anakin flies.

“But then that’s no surprise, considering his mother.”

Anakin’s fingers tighten around the control. He struggles not to let his robotic hand crush them.

“And he has his father’s Force sense.”

“How long have you known?”

“Since the two of you rescued me from Dooku. You were hardly discrete.”

Anakin knew they weren’t, but he told himself-

It doesn’t matter. He knows better than to lie to himself now.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“I’m not your master anymore, Anakin.” The words hit him like a slap. “And there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“What?” He turns in surprise and finds his eyes immediately drawn to Luke’s sleeping face. He can feel they’re drawing closer to Leia.

“You have done what I always knew you would. You have defeated the Sith and brought balance to the Force. You only had to find it for yourself first.”

“But the Council-”

“The Council is too steeped in tradition to remember why those traditions began in the first place. They have lost their way. And your example will guide them to the right path. I only hope I am by your side when they see that.”

“Of course, master,” Anakin says, returning his focus to the stars and hiding his smile. “Nothing would make me happier.”

.

.

Qui-Gon does not get his wish. Not precisely.

It takes many years, nearly all of Anakin’s life, before Yoda—still wrinkly as ever—pays the temple he and Obi-Wan built a visit. The first visit by a member of the Jedi High Council. It isn’t understanding, not yet, but it is acceptance. An open hand, Padme called it.

Anakin will take that.

“Impressive, what you have built is.”

“Thank you, Master Yoda.”

One of his great ears twitches at the honorific. Anakin doesn’t know why. He can still show proper respect, even if he doesn’t bow to the old toad’s wishes.

The ear twitches again, this time in the direction of an adjoining hallway. Padme is laughing and clapping as Ben shows her the kick he just learned.

“Unorthodox, it is as well.”

That old, youthful anger rises up in Anakin. Before it can sharpen his tongue, he feels something softer, something that never failed to cool his internal fire. He looks to his left and sees, for just a moment, Qui-Gon’s smile shimmering in the sunlight through the windows.

Yoda twitches more than ever, looking between Anakin and- Does he see it too?

“Good, too,” Yoda says, a hint of contrition in his voice. “Perhaps.” His cane strikes the floor. “The younglings, show me. Their training I wish to see.”

“Yes, Master Yoda,” Anakin says. He pauses a moment before following to bow—not far, his back won’t bend much these days—to the spot of sunlight that no longer shimmers. “Thank you, master,” he whispers.

He hurries to catch up, eager to show off his family.


End file.
